I Always Liked the Rain
by Tanya Reed
Summary: DEATH FIC WARNING. Meg contemplates her life.


I Always Liked the Rain  
by Tanya Reed

Here's another story from so long ago. I hope you like it. It's the story I alluded to in my original notes for "The Viewing".

WARNING: DEATH FIC

Here are my original notes. Though the story is a death fic, I hope you like it anyway:

Original Summary:

Life is all about choices, and each choice we make changes our life just a little bit. Then, there are the choices that are major turning points, the ones that--once taken--can never be revoked. Some of these choices leave us with happy, contented lives, and others leave us with nothing but a life full of regrets.

This story is not the best I've ever written, and it's unbataed, so please treat it kindly.  
Pairings are Fraser/Thatcher (What else do you expect from me?) I want to thank Amanda for the title. I am very bad at thinking up titles, so they usually end up being donated by friends.

Disclaimer: Due South is definitely not mine, but oh the fun I have with it.

Warning: There are spoilers for several episodes as well as the whole series. Enjoy!

----------------------------------------------

The room was dimly lit by one small lamp on a tiny corner table. It splashed gray shadows over the dull white walls and over the pale, wrinkled face of its only occupant. She was bent over a chest, her aged hands digging through the treasures buried within.

Her dark eyes finally found what she was searching for, and Meg straightened. A soft smile touched her worn face, lighting it in a manner the meager light bulb never could. Trembling hands clasped the book to her chest as she walked to the small couch.

Sitting, she placed her find on the coffee table near the box that had also come from the trunk. Meg sat for a moment, staring at them both before running her fingers over them gently. This was all she had left.

She opened the book first. The old pages crackled and she knew that someday they would fall apart from her constant attentions. The first page held only one picture, and it made tears prickle her eyelids. The reds had faded from the clothing and the corners were discolored, but it was still her favorite picture. The photographer had managed to somehow capture a perfect moment. The two of them were at some formal function, both wearing their dress reds. They were standing close together--almost close enough to touch--and each had a rare smile on his and her serious face. Meg traced his dimples gently, blinking to keep back her tears.

Before she lost control, she turned the page to show more yellowed pictures. A very tall young man grinned at her from one, and another showed two men--one blond and one brunette--with an arm wrapped around each other. On the next page, the same brunette was in almost the same pose with a balding man with a large nose and amazing green eyes. She remembered the way Fraser spoke of his Rays, like they were lost puppies. The picture of the wolf sitting alone made Meg hug herself.

How long? How long had it been since someone had cared about her? She couldn't even remember. It must have been then, when these pictures were taken. The young faces taunted her with their brightness. They had been broken; they had picked themselves up; they had moved on.

At one time, she had scornfully called those 'the Chicago Years'. Those were the years she had been ostracized and forced to run a Consulate with two idiot men under her, two idiot men who became dearer to her than anyone she had ever known. Meg didn't know until it was too late.

There was a picture there of the two of them together. Fraser was tall but Turnbull was taller, and they were both so handsome. She hadn't had a chance to tell them how much she loved them. And the Rays. What would they have said if they knew she considered them family? It was too late now. It had been too late for fifty years.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Meg was young and hungry. Her desire to make a name for herself was great. When she looked on their sweet faces--faces that because of the pictures she could see so clearly at night while she tried to sleep--she had seen people who tried to hold her back. When they would have reached for her, she threw up a wall so thick an ice pick couldn't break through it.

Ice Queen. The name slashed through her like a knife. Dragon Lady she could live with. It had been hers for only months, but Ice Queen...She had been the Ice Queen for so long that it had frozen her from the outside in, slowly killing the spark that was Meg.

She had loved him. She could admit that now, as she sat alone looking at his likeness. His handsome face with its eyes that were gray or blue by turns and hair that begged her to run her fingers through it. His gentleness. His kindness. His shyness. All the parts of Benton Fraser formed into a wonderful whole that her heart could not resist, and it frightened her. Back then, Meg would have scoffed at that, but it was the simple truth. Fear stole her words and her breath. It made her feel like happiness and fulfillment would only cause her pain. She had believed the fear.

Now, she could not understand it. What was there to be afraid of? Ending up alone? Having her heart broken? She hadn't let him in, and it happened anyway.

She had turned from them--Fraser's love, which he might have willingly given if she had just asked, and friendship with Turnbull, the Rays, and even Francesca Vecchio. Meg had a picture of her. It was Christmas and Turnbull had brought a camera to capture the moment. Meg had been offered copies, which she took feigning reluctance. One of them was of the bright eyed Italian woman, grinning at the camera like she loved the world. Meg had once envied her ability to remain cheerful despite life's sneaky tricks and the love she received from those around her, but now she just wished she had made the effort to be her friend.

Meg had been in such a hurry to throw it all away. It all came down to one moment in time when she had to decide--stay in Chicago or take on the world. The little world of the Consulate seemed as nothing compared to the excitement otherwise offered. With her feelings unvoiced, Fraser had taken off with Kowalski, and so there was nothing left. With a tearful goodbye--on his part, not hers--Meg had left Turnbull and headed to Ottawa. There she resigned from the RCMP and became a member of CSIS. When they had asked for preferences for a code name, she smiled and thought of Kowalski. The Ice Queen. Oh, how that haunted her now.

The Ice Queen was a good agent, and she did everything good agents did. She approached her first assignment with enthusiasm and her second one with interest. As the years went on, her reputation and expertise grew, but she became hollow inside. There was so much hardness and hurt in the world, and she found herself longing for goodness in the form of Benton Fraser to come and show her the world was not all bad. Of course, he never did, and eventually she stopped hoping. It broke her heart the day she heard he'd died.

She was in a tent in Egypt in the Nile's dry season. Her clothes were damp and her hair, streaked with gray, hung limply to her shoulders. A young boy had run up to her, chattering in Arabic, and handed her a note. It was dirt stained and travel weary, and it made her frown.

The note was simple and unsigned. It said that while chasing a criminal across ice, it had broken. He had fallen beneath and drowned. Meg didn't want to believe it, and she had cherished some hope until she returned to Canada and it was confirmed.

The Ice Queen had worked ten more years, though her heart wasn't in it. Eventually, the Service forced her to retire. They gave her a nice pension and this small apartment and promptly forgot about her.

Coming back from the past, Meg closed her album and opened the box. More memories rested inside. She lived for these memories, though they made the longing for the other path almost unbearable. What would her life have been if she had held on to Fraser? If she would never have left Chicago? If she would have told the CSIS to shove their offer? She would never know.

The ticket stubs were so faded, the name of the movie was no longer visible. She remembered the name, though, and the mindless violence. Most of all, she remembered a peaceful feeling of belonging that almost overwhelmed her as she sat contentedly with the others. Her dark eyes rested on the date book next, and Meg couldn't hold the tears back anymore. They slowly dripped down her cheeks, following the creases made by a life of intrigue and loneliness. The mistiness of her eyes stole her vision, but in her heart she could see the dried daisies the pages captured. He had been willing to give his life to her.

Regret and longing filled Meg, causing her tears to deteriorate into sobs. It didn't matter anymore, she thought as they wracked her body, there was no one left to see. Even if there was, her pride had left her years ago.

She cried for a long time. When she was finally spent, she looked at the clock on the wall.

_Oh, God. It's only 3 am._

The nights seemed to pass so slowly. They were the hardest. During the day, she could look out her windows at the people who had families. She became part of them for awhile. At night, all there was was darkness. The past came to her then, whispering her a siren song. She could not sleep. It must have been years since she had more than those little cat naps in the afternoon. Sometimes, she felt so weary that she wanted to curl up and let death overcome her. She knew this was foolish--after all, it was more fun to torture her by keeping her alive.

Well, just three hours to go. Three more hours and then she would have survived another night. Dawn would come and the day would be reborn. It would be another day she spent alone.

Meg carefully got up and crossed to the window. As she stared out into the inky blackness, she realized it was raining. The drops looked like tears against the glass. They were somewhat soothing, almost like they were falling on her soul.

"I always liked the rain."

The voice behind her made Meg jump, and she whirled. She had been expecting to see some armed teenager or prim social worker. The person she actually saw stole all the breath from her body. He looked as she remembered, better than the images on the fragile pages of her book. His athletic body was confined in red serge and his light eyes looked on her with respect.

"Fraser?" she whispered, unable to believe her eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." He came forward slowly, as if afraid that he'd frighten her.

Her eyes took him in hungrily, from his dark brown hair to his dark brown boots. She gazed at him in silence for so long she thought that dawn must surely peek through her window at any moment. He stood watching her as well, not hurrying her, just waiting.

"Why are you here?" She winced at the sound of her voice. It was the Ice Queen speaking, still trying to push him away despite all she had learned.

"I've come for you."

"Me?"

"Yes, sir. You weren't meant to spend your life alone. The choices we made were the wrong ones."

She nodded in acceptance of this. After all, she'd been analyzing her choices for over fifteen years. There was a lot of time to think when you were forgotten.

"Am I dead then?" she asked.

"Well, I suppose in a few minutes your body will be what those on your side call dead. I learned at an early age not to trust that as being the final destination. Instead, it is more like moving from one world to another."

"How do I know you're not some fever soaked dream? How do I know you are real?"

He was close enough to touch her now, and he did. Fraser picked up one of her wrinkled hands and squeezed it gently. Meg thrilled at the touch, awash in the memories it evoked.

"I am as real as you are, Meg."

It was the first time he had ever used her name. She liked the way it sounded on his lips, almost like a song or a prayer.

"I..I believe you," she whispered.

He smiled, his face dimpling. "Good."

"So, you have come to get me? Why? Couldn't I just slip away here alone?"

"I couldn't let that happen. All these years I have longed to come to you, but it was forbidden. Now, when the veil is lifting, the rule has been revoked. I have come to tell you..." He paused a moment as if thinking, "...I have come to tell you that I love you Margaret Thatcher and I want you to spend eternity with me."

Meg was stunned. "You can't be serious." A hurt look came to his boyish face, so she continued, "I was nothing but mean to you. I was always so cold and cruel..."

"What about the kiss on the train?"

Meg closed her eyes and the memory was there. It was the first of their three shared kisses, and her favorite. When Fraser took her in his arms, time had stood still. Even now, fifty years later, remembering made her smile.

"I ordered you to forget it," she whispered.

"But I never did. Come with me Meg, and we will take in wonders together."

She opened her eyes and looked into his face. It was the face she had longed to see since they had parted so long ago. She raised a hand to it, not noticing that the signs of age had fallen away.

"You really want to be with me?"

"Would I have come for you if I didn't?"

With a wide smile, finally believing that this was not some huge cosmic joke, Meg embraced him. He was so solid and real, it felt right.

"It's time to go now," he told her as they broke apart.

He offered his hand and she took it. Together they walked through the window and out into the rain. Meg sighed in pleasure. She would never have to be alone again.


End file.
